A Travel Memoir
by The Zazu
Summary: A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step." Traveling the world a year after his brother's death, George Weasley learns of inner strength, beauty, and the very fabric of humanity.
1. prologue: a decision

**A Travel Memoir  
**i. prologue: a decision

The day he decided he needed to leave, the sky was blue. The grass was green. There were flowers blooming. It was normal, it was picturesque, but it was also May 2nd, 1999. That meant it had been a year. Three-hundred sixty-five days. Eight-thousand, seven-hundred sixty hours. Five-hundred twenty-five thousand, six-hundred minutes since Fred Weasley was murdered.

Other than that, yes, it was a fairly normal day.

That very night, George brought it up at the dinner table, the idea of leaving. Suddenly, a silence interrupted the laughter and chatter of the recovering Weasley family. George waited, very patiently, for someone to speak. There was bound to be dissent. Ginny and Ron, after trading glances of sibling significance, solidly downed the thought. 'Unsurprising,' George thought, 'They are rather protective of me.'

Percy, of course, began listing the various reasons George should not leave. There was his Apparating problem, ever since Fred died. It didn't quite work anymore, and really, Flooing was _simply_ too expensive these days.

"I will take the Muggle aeroplane, then. I do have some gold," George interrupted. Percy gaped for a moment at the reasonable response and fell silent.

Bill and Fleur remained quiet, but he could sense their reluctance. On the other hand, Hermione kept looking anxiously at George. George met her stare defiantly. It wasn't as if he was going mad. Harry merely studied his plate but nodded slightly. He understood the need to leave. Or, perhaps the peas and carrots were very illuminating that evening. George was never quite sure with Harry.

"Where will you be going?" His father's voice was unusually tender.

"Somewhere that isn't here," George replied shortly.

Mrs. Weasley merely looked at the family clock, fractured and missing an important hand, and then directed her gaze to George. "It's what he would have wanted," she assured everyone – or was she assuring herself?

Frankly, George did not really know what Fred would have wanted. He shrugged ambiguously. Mrs. Weasley's words, however clichéd and ambiguous, were thankfully enough to close the subject.

And for the first time, in a very long time, George Weasley was content.

-

_Note_: Yes, a brief beginning, but the following chapters will increase length as George travels. Also, the May 2nd date is the date of the Hogwarts Battle provided by the Harry Potter Lexicon. Please leave thoughts and other exciting comments. :)


	2. airport

**A Travel Memoir  
**ii. airport

"_I did not fully understand the dread term 'terminal illness'  
until I saw Heathrow Airport for myself."  
-- Dennis Potter_

The day George Weasley actually left England, the sky was thunderous. Roiling clouds of black and grey twisted across the sky peculiarly and ominously. Walking towards the Muggle airport, George nearly brought out his wand before recalling that the war _was_ over. 'A year ago, Voldemort would have been behind that,' he mused. Soon after, the wizard suddenly realised the passers-by on the street were giving him terribly strange looks, or really the area behind him.

George turned around.

Oh, yes. His entourage. A mass of red-headed, bright-eyed supporters. (With a dash of blonde and brunette in the mix.) A mass of smiling, crying, and talkative supporters in ludicrously eye-damaging colours. His mother was wearing a flamboyant, pink and yellow muumuu with a ridiculous large hat right from Royal Ascot couture. Mrs. Weasley's blotchy, tear-stained face did not well with her already ridiculous attire. Mr. Weasley was dressed in orange tweed – did they truly make such a thing? – and a glow-in-the-dark tie to match. George sighed in slight relief as he noticed everyone else was dressed in reasonably normal attire, though for some reason, they had a penchant for neon colours. Hermione herded the Weasleys from the curb-side to ensure none were crushed by the oncoming traffic, whereas Harry took up the rear to tug along stragglers. George began giving the passers-by strange looks back.

Things were going reasonably well. And then they reached the entrance of Heathrow Airport.

He stopped and gaped, almost unable to comprehend the fluctuating throngs of people, the stop-and-go of cabs, and simply all the movement. George attempted to follow the edge of the structure with his eyes, but it just kept going. He gulped a little nervously, abruptly reconsidering his decision to leave. There were just too many people and he already knew he would be claustrophobic. The wizard sent a quick glance back. If he stayed, only years full of people tiptoeing around him with concern. 'It isn't bad, really,' George justified to himself, 'but… a bit too much to handle for the rest of my life.'

The members of the Weasley clan all looked at him worriedly. George stood in front of the doors awkwardly, unsure of what to say. That was usually the case without Fred around.

It was Hermione who broke the silence. "I don't think we really should go with him beyond this point. George will have to check-in at the airline counter and go through security… All of this can be over-whelming so I think we ought to say our good-byes now and let him be." Hermione, a few days earlier, had been the one to brief him on the procedures and the etiquette of travelling in the air. Her words prompted a flurry of last-minute action.

"Take pictures!"

"Do remember to shower."

"Owl—err, I mean… write me!"

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Bill, you know zat eez not much."

Many hugs, handshakes, and shoulder thumps later, George detached himself from the family and stepped into the airport. The doors seemed to magically sense his arrival. George stumbled backwards in surprise, nearly landing in the luggage cart of a rather portly, hostile woman also entering Heathrow.

Stammering a few apologies, George stepped to the side and observed the Muggles standing in lines with their luggage. 'This must be the "check-in" Hermione referred to,' the redhead mused as he joined the shortest line. The experience was rather boring and time-consuming and made the Gryffindor long to Apparate.

Reaching the front of the line, George produced his identification and flight information (again, as Hermione had instructed). The clerk looked at him sharply. "This is for Lufthansa flights only, sir. This is for British Airways." She pointed to the insignia on his ticket with one manicured nail.

"Ah, right. Thank you, Miss…," he paused to search for a name, "…Anne for pointing that out and I will be sure to inform your superior what a help you have been once I complete the rest of my inspection." George nodded slightly, while giving her his most regal look. "Cheerio," he added, for good effect, as he spun sharply on his heel and walked away, this time to the British Airways counter.

'Fred would be proud of that save,' George mused, again standing in line.

When his turn came, the lady at the check-in counter prompted him politely, "You may place your luggage here." She flashed him a plastic, impeccably patient smile.

"Errr…." His luggage was in his pocket, thanks to a quick Shrinking Spell. What would he say? The lady continued to look at him with a smile, but George could tell that she thought he was a bit thick. "No luggage, just my boarding pass, please," George quickly said. That startled her out of her postured poise. The check-in lady double-checked his boarding pass and looked back at him quizzically. "No luggage," he repeated firmly, snatching his boarding pass and studying it for a moment. Terminal Four.

"Four… that shouldn't be that difficult a number to find…" he muttered under his breath, stalking towards security.

It was at security that George realised that yes, Heathrow Airport was god-awfully large and no, terminal four would not be easy to find. The Weasley stared in slight awe at the massive amounts of people rushing with their luggage carts – not to mention the plethora of stores (high-end, mind you) lining the walls. 'An almost materialistic paradise,' thought George, 'Interesting…'

He started walking in one direction, searching for any indication of sign. Nearly fifteen minutes later, George found one. Terminal Nine. The Weasley swore under his breath. Another fifteen minutes of walking back in the other direction. Brilliant. George brought out his boarding pass to check his flight time. 6:45 PM.

George sighed, looking balefully in the direction from which he had come.

At least he had time.

-

_Note_: Have constructive criticism? Do share your thoughts and comments. I would love to improve each chapter. This was a bit of a filler chapter and though I tried to keep things maybe a little humorous, I am not entirely satisfied… ah well. The rest of the story is structured by George's destinations. :) It's great to be back writing… I just hope to keep it up!!

Also, the Royal Ascot is a race held in Britain usually around June-ish, I think. Formal attire is required (i.e. appropriate dress and hat) and thus there are many interesting hats seen at the Royal Ascot.


End file.
